Margaret's Prince
by Lady Eleanor Boleyn
Summary: What if Princess Margaret and Peter Townsend had eloped to Scotland in Season 1? What if Margaret had got her Prince after all?


_I am currently most of the way through Season 1 of the Crown and simply had to write this, because even though I know that the Princess Margaret/Peter Townsend arc could go nowhere, I fell in love with them as a couple. Hence, I wanted to let them marry, even if only in my own head. I also chose their place of marriage because of my own desires - I love Iona!_

 _Thank you for indulging me and enjoy!_

 **Margaret's Prince**

" _I've been racking my brains as to how I can best help you…. I'm not head of the Church of Scotland. Marriage isn't considered a sacrament…"_

Lillibet's words echoed through Margaret's head as she put the phone down. They echoed through her head, racing in delighted tandem with her pounding heart.

They could marry! Lillibet had given them permission; had more or less told them how to do it. They could marry!

With trembling fingers, Margaret picked the receiver and rang Peter, heedless of how frightfully early she'd complained it was only minutes earlier. This news was too good to keep to herself!

* * *

"Darling, I really don't think we should do this," Peter sighed. At the warning note in his voice, Margaret froze, turning injured eyes on him.

"Why on earth not? We've got Lillibet's permission, you know we have! And she told me herself we could get married inety Scotland if we wanted. Please, Peter, let's just go!"

"Darling," Peter held out his arms gently. Margaret, as she always did, melted into them without a second thought. He ran a hand over the crown of her head as she tucked it into the hollow between his neck and shoulder, "Be sensible. We can't marry like this; running off to Scotland without telling anyone. Lillibet's given permission, yes, but Cabinet haven't said anything, and we really ought to have them on-side. You know that."

"Oh, blow Cabinet!" Margaret exclaimed, pushing away from his chest, "They're all a lot of stuffy old prigs who know nothing of the real world or how people feel anyway! I don't want their approval for my marriage. It would spoil the whole thing!"

"Maybe," Peter softened, "But they do run our country. And without their permission, Lillibet won't be able to give you the marriage you've always wanted. The big grand party in Westminster Abbey. If we run off to Scotland, we're losing that, as well as quite a lot else besides."

He looked down at her, lips quirking into that half-exasperated, half-indulgent smile that only she ever seemed to be able to draw out of him. He expected her to sigh and give in.

He'd underestimated her, however.

"I don't care," she murmured, and when she met his eyes, hers were steely, "I don't care about the party. All I want is to marry you. I don't care how, when or where."

Suddenly, her steel shattered and she flung herself into his arms, clutching at him and crying, "Please, Peter, please! If you love me, if you've ever loved me even half as much as I love you, come to Scotland with me!"

Peter knew he ought to resist her, really. But one glance down at her vivid, eager face, and he was undone. He could see only too well why the late King had always said 'Elizabeth is my pride but Margaret is my joy'.

He sighed again.

"Very well. If that's really what you want."

* * *

"Ma'am. We've just had word from Balmoral. The Princess Margaret has just returned. Apparently Her Royal Highness married Group Captain Townsend in Iona Abbey yesterday morning."

"What?" Elizabeth was awake at once, despite the unholy hour. She swung herself out of bed, struggling to keep back the fierce oath that sprang to her lips. She didn't usually swear, but…

"Margaret!" There was enough vehemence in the name to cover half a dozen curses.

"You'd better get me the Prime Minister and the Home Secretary," she ordered, flinging a wrap around herself before anyone could reach her to aid her. This was no time for protocol. If Margaret really had married Peter, then every second they could find to mitigate the scandal counted.

* * *

"Your Majesty, this cannot be allowed to stand. Her Royal Highness's marriage was never formally approved. Summon them both back to London and make them understand that this misguided union must be annulled at once!"

Churchill was wheezing and flushed, but showed no other signs of it being such an unusual hour to find himself in Buckingham Palace. His ebullient nature, which liked everything to be just so and was horrified by anything that veered from tradition, was as much in evidence as ever.

Despite her own shock, Elizabeth could find some sympathy in her for her sister's plight. After all, hadn't she stood against them all to insist on Phillip? And if this bull-headedness was what Margaret had been up against, she could almost understand, even if only in the very depths of her own mind, why her younger sister had decided to escape it all and run off to Scotland.

"But that's just it, Winston!" she broke in, surprising herself as much as her Prime Minister, especially with the sharpness in her tone, "I did give Margaret permission. Not in writing, perhaps, but the night she invited myself and the Duke to supper at Clarence House. And believe me when I say that I am absolutely certain that my younger sister will have made 100% sure that there will be no possible grounds for annulment. Besides, don't we all believe marriage should be honoured as the sacrament it is? No. I have not summoned you here to advise me on how best to get the Princess out of this marriage, misguided though it may be. Seeking to end the marriage now would be to create more of a scandal than allowing it to stand. What I am asking you to do is to tell me how we can make the best of this."

* * *

"You do realise what a difficult position you've put me in, don't you, Margot?" Elizabeth exhaled, raising her eyebrows at her younger sister in warning at the same time as she used her sister's childhood nickname for the first time in years. Somehow, the contradiction seemed to fit the moment.

Margaret, for her part, at least had the grace to look somewhat abashed, "I know, Lillibet. I am sorry, truly. It's just…Once you'd said yes and suggested Scotland, I – I didn't…"

"You didn't want me to change my mind?"

"I didn't want you to have it changed for you!"

"What?!"

"Oh, come on, Lillibet. You've never been able to say no to the government. You didn't fight them over the children having Phillip's surname. You didn't fight them over having to move into Buckingham Palace, even though I know how much you hate that place. How could I have expected you to fight them over me?"

Elizabeth blinked, "You're my sister," she replied, as though that explained everything.

"And Phillip is your husband," Margaret returned quietly.

For a moment, the two sisters stared at one another, seemingly at an impasse. Elizabeth, as usual, was the one to break it, glancing away, down at the papers on her desk.

"You'll have to give up your rights to the Succession. You'll keep your title of Princess, but any children you may have with Peter will never be in line for the throne. But I'll make him an Earl. I was thinking Earl of Kendal and Viscount Rochford. Ostensibly, it will be because of his loyalty to Papa and the years of service he gave him, but everyone will know why I've done it really. And I'll give you a settlement. I was thinking you could have Royal Lodge in Windsor for your own. I've spoken to Mummy and she's happy to hand it over to you."

"You mean she wants me out of London and out of the public eye," Margaret pouted.

"Margaret," Elizabeth warned, and Margaret dropped her head, for once properly chastened, "I'm sorry, Lillibet. I know you're doing your best."

"Yes, I am, so you could at least try to meet me halfway here."

Elizabeth paused to let everything sink in, "Will you take Peter on those terms, Margaret?"

"You know I would!" Margaret's eyes shot up to meet her older sister's, "Oh, Lillibet, you know I would! I'd take him if he was a beggar and you made me give up everything to be with him."

"I doubt that. You're too much like Uncle David," Elizabeth chuckled slightly, then softened, holding out her hand.

"I suppose that's all that needs to be said. If you're certain…"

"I am!"

"Then congratulations, Lady Kendal. I hope you'll be very happy together."

Margaret squealed and threw her arms around her sister's neck.

* * *

The baby cooed, her skin a soft, dusky pink in the sunlight. Margaret rocked her slightly, then looked up to meet Elizabeth's gaze, maternal pride strong in her eyes.

"She's beautiful, Margot. Absolutely beautiful," Elizabeth whispered, reaching out to touch her niece's little cheek with a fingertip.

"Isn't she just? Peter can't take his eyes off her. It's why we named her Helen, because he says she's as beautiful as Helen of Troy."

"Helen? I thought you were naming her for me?! You said every generation of York women had to have its Elizabeth."

"We are. Lady Elizabeth Helen Constance Townsend. Elizabeth for her aunt and the woman who made it possible for us to marry, Helen for her beauty and Constance for the love we bear each other."

Margaret smirked up at her older sister, who simply laughed and reached up to run a hand through her sister's curls, pushing them back from her face in a tender gesture.

"Very well. It's a beautiful name. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. I hope she'll be as much of a joy to you as you were to Papa."

"Oh, yes. But she'll be my pride as well."

Margaret couldn't help it; couldn't help the words that sprang to her lips, even now, in this most joyous of moments. And Elizabeth, uncharacteristically, let it go. For once, she let it go.

This was not the moment to get lost in petty childhood rivalries. This was a time for celebration; for honouring the new life that lay cradled in her mother's arms, the future unfurling before her. A future as bright and golden as the sunset that poured through the bedroom windows, highlighting the varying hues in the little girl's fine, downy hair.


End file.
